Schadenfreude
by ladyinblue6
Summary: There ain't no rest for the wicked, until we close our eyes for good. AH, OOC, EPoV.
1. The Beginning

_**Schadenfreude**_** is a German word that means "delight at the misfortune of others."  
Enjoy.**

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"Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked,  
Money don't grow on trees.  
We got bills to pay,  
We got mouths to feed,  
There ain't nothing in this world for free."  
- Ain't No Rest For the Wicked – Cage the Elephant

"This is going to be your main research project," my professor droned. "You must interview six to ten people that are socially unacceptable. Whether it be a minority, a frowned upon religion, or a criminal. They must not fit the mould. All you need to ask is why. Why did they choose this?"

Hmm. Not as bad as it could have could have been stuck asking old bats how they felt about society now compared to society in the Jurassic era when they were born.

"This will be due in one month," the professor warned. "Don't procrastinate. 'Why' is a very broad question. It could take several sessions to get a person of this social status to answer."

Why? It is a vague question, isn't it? You ask a person "Why?" and they reply, "Why what?" Why is a broad question when it comes to figuring out who a person really is.

My class was dismissed from class five minutes early. It was the last class of the day for me. I left the campus, walking to my apartment, which was a good fifteen blocks away. Every day, I came across diversity. Blacks, whites, browns, Asians, Latin Americans, Native Americans, Italians, Jews... I've seen them all on my walks to and from college.

According to the majority of the population of the great city of Seattle, I was "slumming it." I lived in the low income neighbourhood. I _chose_ to live here. I could have some big fancy apartment and live the good life, but I wanted to see a different society. The society that gets all the pity, all the news reports, and no affection. We walk down the street and see that guy playing the guitar or the man with a cardboard sign saying, "Please, give me _something._" And we all toss a few bucks in, our smiles reassuring as we continue to walk towards our six-figure jobs and perfect lives.

We sympathize when the time calls for it. But, we can also turn to our friends and say, "Damn dirty Natives broke into my house and took the fucking TV!" or "Did you hear about that stabbing downtown? Must have been that gang of black kids terrorizing the town."

Yes, we're just a bunch of petty fakers. The whole world is a stage. That bastard Shakespeare knew what he was talking about. We are all actors and actresses in the biggest play of them all. _Life._ Sure, we don't get to have after-show parties and our costumes never come off, but we're always pretending to be something we're not.

Welcome to the twenty-first century, where everybody can be somebody and all the somebody's become everybody's.

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**Thank you to RosetteCullen for okaying this idea. Really. She's the love of my life. **

**Thank you also to my Beta, Sobriquett. She didn't Beta this, but she helped me with the last chapter. I love her infinite amounts as well.**

**Thanks for reading,  
Mary **


	2. The Prostitute

**Italicised sentences are lyrics from **_**Ain't No Rest For the Wicked.**_

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"She knocking knees  
So full of pride  
She made the move cause she's got nothing to hide."  
- Free Love – Cage the Elephant

The Prostitute

_Three Weeks Later_

My pace was slow today as my thoughts wandered around the swirling ideas about my project. I only needed one more person. Who could I interview? My entire project was done on people that aren't cliché's. I didn't interview a homeless person or someone in jail. Everyone would do that. But it was looking like I didn't have any other choice, until I ran into her.

"Terribly sorry," I muttered, not looking at the person I stumbled into.

"Maybe you should watch where you're going, huh?" a honey smooth voice retorted.

I finally looked up at the woman. She was a prostitute. Her clothes screamed, "Buy me!" Her looks, however, told a different story. Her deep brown hair cascaded down her back and her chocolate eyes flashed against her creamy skin. Her petite body curved slowly and sensually from her chest to her thighs. She was beautiful and broken. She was perfect for my project.

"I'm sorry, Miss..." I prompted.

"Swan, Bella Swan," she replied coolly, crossing her arms over her pleather blue corset.

"Masen, Edward Masen." I grinned and held out my hand for her to shake. She got a sly smile on her face as she grasped my hand.

"You know, I've _never seen a man who looked so all alone, could you use a little company?_" she murmured seductively. "_If you pay the right price your evening will be nice and you can go and send me on my way._"

I replied with, "_You're such a sweet young thing, why do you do this to yourself?_"

Her seductive grin diminished. "What's it to you?"

What _was_ it to me? This project may only be "Why?" to most of the students in my class, but my reasons had to make sense to me before I could interview someone.

I _could_ say, "Well, I'm taking a psych class in college right now, and I'm interviewing socially unacceptable people. You seemed like the perfect specimen."

Yeah, or not.

Prostitutes were socially unacceptable. It was almost acceptable to be that kind of unacceptable. We have movies like _Pretty Woman_ that glamorize hookers. Oh, yes, in every hooker lies a beautiful woman that can turn into a lady, a woman that just needed to rebel against her mother, a woman that can change. Who the fuck were they kidding?

I cleared my throat. "I like knowing people's stories. I like knowing someone before..."

"Before you fuck them?" Bella finished with a wily grin.

My chuckle was short and quick. "Yeah, I guess so."

"Okay, let's strike a deal, shall we, Edward?" Bella murmured before hooking her arm through mine and walking down the street. "I'll tell you all about my pathetic life _after_ you pay me."

"So, I pay you _before_ the sex then?" That's not usually how it worked, was it?

Bella laughed loudly, something that I hadn't expected from her. "Oh, God, no, that's against the hooker laws, for Christ's sake. No, silly boy, I'm going to give you a deal. I'll fuck you before the interview and after. Ya dig?"

"Yes, I, uh, dig," I replied, shoving my free hand in my pocket.

"So, where do you live, Eddie?" Bella asked as she scampered down the sidewalk beside me, barely keeping up to my long strides. She must have been at least ten inches shorter than me.

"Near Rainier Beach," I told her.

She let out a low whistle. "Slummin' it, huh?"

I couldn't help the grin forming on my lips. Just another tick to add to my book of statistics. Even a person that could very well live near Rainier Beach called it a slum. How amazingly hypocritical.

"Yes, I suppose you could put it that way."

"I live there, too." Well, there you go. "What building?"

I told her the name of my apartment building.

"No fucking way!" she exclaimed. "I live, like, across the street from you pretty much." She scowled in concentration. "I don't think I've seen you before though. I would remember such a weird hair colour. Is that natural?"

I crinkled my nose at the thought of dyeing my hair. "Yes, of course."

Bella laughed. "Duh, I should have known that. Guys of your stature don't dye their hair until it starts greying. You're only, what? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?"

"Yes, I'm twenty-three. How old are you?"

"Well, my I.D. says I'm twenty-four, but I'm really only nineteen," she explained bluntly, not even bothering to lie about her age.

A small smile found its place on my lips. "Thank you for being honest."

Bella shrugged. "It's weird, isn't it? The honest prostitute."

"Mary Magdalene was a prostitute," I informed her.

"Mary Magdalene?" she prompted, gesturing with her hand for me to commence.

"She was a disciple of Jesus," I said. "Haven't you read the Bible?"

She shook her head. "Mom wasn't around; Dad worshipped the river near our house as his god. Never heard the inappropriate stories."

"Well, Mary Magdalene was a prostitute. She was, like so many others, pulled into believing in God by Jesus. She's also believed to be Jesus' lover. Have you ever read or seen _The Da Vinci Code_?"

Bella shook her head again. "No time to read, no money to spare for movies."

"In that book, they say that Jesus had a child with Mary Magdalene, that his blood survives still today." I shrugged. "Just an opinion of a man who doesn't believe in Jesus being so glorious, I suppose. Do you believe in God?"

She sighed. "Well, I like the idea of God. I wish someone could forgive me for all of this." She swept a hand over her body. "But, honestly, I think once you're dead, you're dead."

"Reasonable," I murmured, not agreeing nor disagreeing.

"What about you?" she asked, looking at my expectantly.

"I...I'm not so sure," I admitted, running my hand through my hair. "I mean, my parents raised me as a Catholic, my mom is–was–Irish, but I went through a bit of a rebellious stage as a teenager, just like most teenagers do. I didn't believe in anything, not God, not my parent's wishes, not myself, nothing. I'm just starting to get over that rebellious stage now."

"That didn't really answer whether you believe in God or not now," Bella pointed out. Damn, she was observant. Most people would just nod solemnly and continue talking about their own shallow life.

I ran my hand through my hair again, nervous about being around someone with her ears open to my opinions. "I guess I'm the same as you. I like the _idea_ of God, but I'm not so sure he's actually there. I guess I'll find out when my time comes."

"I guess," Bella whispered.

This was my opportunity to look at Bella when she seemed vulnerable. The idea of death obviously brought up some unwanted emotions. She was trying to leave her face blank. She was successful. Bella looked calm, cool, and collected, to say the least. But, her eyes gave her away. It looked like she had a million locked up tears inside, just begging to be shed.

But, then she closed herself off. In an instant, she was back to normal, or what I knew as normal for her. It was as if she'd never even been on the verge of showing a real emotion. How curious. She wasn't like the others. They practically begged me to put them out of their misery.

Bella, on the other hand, seemed to want no help. Her eyes and actions didn't contradict each other. She was...unusual.

I cleared my throat. "Do you want to grab something to eat before we...uh, go?"

She smiled, causing her nose to crinkle up in a cute way. "Sure, it's totally up to you, Eddie."

This time _I_ crinkled my nose.

"You don't like nicknames?" she asked, grabbing my hand casually, like we were actually together.

I shook my head, trying to concentrate on her words and not her body. "No, not really. Ed, Eddie, Eduardo... They all annoy me. Pet names have never been my thing."

"Eduardo?" Bella cocked an eyebrow. "That's an interesting one."

"I had some interesting friends in high school," I replied.

"Apparently," she muttered. "Mm, let's eat here. I love this place."

It was a quaint, homey restaurant named Grandma Sue's. It had to be good. A grandmother's food was always the best.

"I don't think I've been here," I murmured, opening the door and gesturing for Bella to proceed.

"Oh, God, Edward, you've been missing out!" Bella exclaimed, quickly claiming the booth nearest to the swinging doors leading to the kitchen. "You have to have the Ukrainian dinner. I'm not suggesting, I'm telling."

My eyebrows came together. "What exactly is included in that?"

"Why does it matter?" she retorted, looking at the beverages area of the menu. "You got a weak stomach or something? Allergies maybe?"

"No, I just like to know what I'm eating." And I have a weak stomach.

She snorted. "Yeah, sure. You're just a pussy."

No one had ever challenged me like this before. At least, no girl ever had. Usually girls just fawned over me, agreed with my every word in hopes of getting a free fuck. Bella didn't fall for my shit. It was refreshing, but infuriating at the same time. I'd liked getting my way with women.

"Just tell me," I demanded.

Bella rolled her eyes. "Fine, you twat. There are perogies, cabbage rolls, and three smokies. You happy?"

"Yes," I answered quietly. She made me feel like an idiot. I didn't like it.

The waitress came over. She quickly took our orders and smiled at Bella like, well, a grandma.

"How're ya doin', Bella?" she asked.

"Ah, alright, Sue," she replied with a mischievous grin. "Y'know, same old, same old."

Sue got a sad look in her eyes. "Yeah, I know, honey. You know, you're always welcome at our house."

Bella blushed and looked away. "Oh, Sue, you know I couldn't intrude on you and Harry."

"Oh, hush, child," Sue scolded. "You know we wouldn't mind having you at our place. Hell, I'd prefer you with us to that hole in the wall you live in now, doing what you do for money."

Bella's eyes flashed with stubbornness. "Sue, I'm doing this my way. Charlie's gotta crack eventually, you know."

Sue shook her head and walked away, mumbling under her breath.

"Should I even ask right now?" I prodded.

Bella shook her head. "All in time, guy, all in time."

We waited for our food in silence after that. I was thinking of all the different situations. Maybe Charlie was her ex. Maybe he used to beat her, so she flew the coop and she's waiting for him to ask for her back. That seemed logical and fitting for the time and place. Or, maybe Charlie was her landlord and Bella was actually a rich kid that just got in bad and had to leave. Or maybe, or maybe, or maybe... So many variables.

The steaming plates of Ukrainian food came out with a smile from Sue. I took the first bite and I knew that this was my restaurant of choice now. My grandma had nothing on Sue. I cleaned my plate off in ten minutes, tops.

Bella giggled. "Told you so."

I just nodded before leaning back in my seat and rubbing my overfull stomach. I'd never felt more satisfied.

"This one's on me," I said before she could even think about taking out some money.

"Nah, it's on the house," Bella told me nonchalantly. She waved bye to Sue and headed for the door. "Sue lets me and my guests eat for free, since we're practically family and all."

I followed behind, stuffing my wallet back in my pocket.

"Where are we going?" I asked, not sure where this girl was leading me to.

"Well, you're house, I guess." She flashed me a smile. "I know where you live, remember?"

My head bobbed. I was terribly nervous about this. Yes, I was a man, and yes, I liked sex as much as the next person, but never had I ever considered buying someone to pleasure me, even if it meant helping my academics. Even _I_ felt cheap, and I wasn't fucking someone for money. I didn't understand how girls could succumb to this kind of life now, when there were so many opportunities. True, we were in an economic slump, but there were still jobs available for nearly anyone. You might not get paid as much as you would as a prostitute, but you would feel a lot cleaner, I would think.

The rest of the walk to my apartment was silent. Bella was smiling and greeting people, but I had my hands stuffed in my pockets and I was nervously biting my lip and shaking my hair out of my face.

"Um, well, we're here, I guess," I mumbled, getting my key out and letting us into my building. We jogged up the stairs, onto the second floor and entered the first room on the right, looking over the street.

"This is it," I announced, gesturing to my one bedroom apartment.

Bella nodded with a smile. "Nice, very nice. Bigger than my place, I'll tell you that. A lot cleaner, too. Do you have someone come in?" She smirked. "Just kidding."

A smile graced my lips and I exhaled, letting some of the tension out of my body. Then Bella started to stalk towards me, still wearing that sexy, tantalizing grin. It was disorienting, seeing her just go for me like this. I didn't understand how she could do something like this all the time, with many different men. I suddenly felt jealous, but for no reason at all. I barely knew Bella; I had no claim on her. She was a prostitute, for God's sake! I knew coming into this that it would be a one-fuck wonder, not a long term thing, unless you counted two days, tops, a long term deal.

So, why did I feel this way? Maybe it was because I knew that she looked at every man like this, every seventy-year-old pervert, every STD-infected trucker, every husband looking for a quick lay before going back to his family. And it didn't seem right. Well, obviously prostitution wasn't right, but on an emotional level. It wasn't fair to Bella or me.

"Stop," I finally commanded. "I can't – I can't do something like this. This isn't me. I don't give money to girls to fuck me. Unless you actually want to have sex with me, I'm sorry, but I can't do this."

Bella blinked, falling back on her heels. I knocked her off her game. She looked down, her eyelashes brushing the tops of her cheeks.

"What if I told you I did want to have sex with you?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.

"Do you?"

"Answer the question, Edward."

"Well, I guess we could have sex, but only after I know you a bit better." I rubbed the back of my neck. "So, do you?"

Bella nodded and sat down on the couch against the wall. "I guess we're going to have to get to know each other better, Edward." She smirked. "Let's hear your side of the story first."

I trusted Bella, so I took a deep breath.

This was going to be a long night.

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**This is actually the first half of the end of the story. Do you understand what I'm saying? The next chapters are in chronological order.**

**And, in case you didn't catch this, I'm posting every weekend (whether it be Friday, Saturday, or Sunday is based on how well I remember that I'm posting this story). It will only run for eight weeks, unfortunately. This is a short fic. But a good one, I hope.**

**Mary**


	3. The Robber

**Once again, the italicised sentences/fragments are from "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" by Cage the Elephant.**

"You had to move into the shade  
Before you fire the gun  
We got a hunger for destruction  
Need someone to bleed."  
- James Brown – Cage the Elephant

The Robber

I was walking home after class, pondering my assignment. I had never been one for cliché's and it was one of the few times in my life when I actually cared. I wanted to do well.

My mind was swirling with ideas. I got home and threw my books on my table before turning around and leaving again. I couldn't sit still just yet. I was walking around my block for hours on end, thinking of different corrupt people. That's when I saw the shadow of a man creep out of sight, into an alleyway I was about to walk past.

Carefully keeping my eyes ahead and walking quickly, I passed the opening to labyrinth. Then he swept up from behind me and put a gun up to my head. _He made it clear he wasn't looking for a fight when he said,_ "_Gimme all you got, I want your money, not your life, but if you try to make a move, I won't think twice_."

My chest was heaving and my eyes were darting around to see if anyone cared. Of course no one gave a shit. We were in the slums of Seattle. It was survival of the fittest out here. Right now, I was looking pretty weak.

So, I took a deep breath and let my mind stop racing for a second. That's when it dawned on me. This man had a story behind his gun and hard attitude. This man would be perfect for my assignment.

"_You can have my cash, but you know I have to ask what made you want live this kind of life?_" I murmured, barely breathing, praying to nothing in particular that my head wouldn't get blown off.

The cool metal was removed from my skull, and I let myself breathe a quiet sigh of relief.

"Why the hell do you care?" the man asked. I put my hands down and turned towards him.

"Honestly?" He nodded, shoving the gun down his pants. "I'm a psych student."

He barked out a laugh. "That's a new one."

"It's the truth," I promised him. "How about we go to the diner down the street? I'll buy you something to you eat and then give you some money."

He looked at me warily; he clearly didn't like my idea. "What's in it for you?"

I shrugged. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

The man still looked unsure. He must not have been able to trust many people in his life. He must have learnt the valuable lesson a long time ago.

People try to deny it, but they really don't trust anyone. We were fashioned to be suspicious of everyone, even our closest friends. When something goes missing, you never blame your own forgetful ass, it's always someone else's fault.

Maybe this man had been on the receiving end of this international issue. Maybe one of his "buddies" dropped his name to the cops for a crime he didn't commit.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Edward Masen." I held out my hand.

He took it. "Emmett McCarty."

We shook hands and began the short walk to the diner. We moved in silence, neither of us trusting each other for different reasons. Obviously I was scared that I was going to have a gun pulled on me and he was nervous that I would report him. Both legitimate reasons to not trust each other.

When we got to the diner, Emmett opened the door, letting me in first, a quality you wouldn't usually find in a man of Emmett's social class. My brow furrowed as I thought of all the possibilities while I sat in the nearest booth.

A waitress took our orders and we were left alone. I pulled out my moleskin and a pen, flipping to a new page. Emmett fidgeted in his seat, his burly figure looking cramped in the small space.

Emmett looked like a prisoner. He was tall, muscular, and intimidating. He had black, curly hair and steel-gray eyes that looked like boulders holding back information. He was handsome, I suppose. He had ever-present dimples that made him slightly less overbearing, seeing as even if he was frowning, it looked like he was grinning. His skin was tan where I could see it. He was wearing an old, brown leather jacket with a black t-shirt underneath and a pair of worn jeans with some steel-toed boots, if I wasn't mistaken. He looked like a hard-working guy that had a greater purpose than people would think.

"How old are you, Emmett?" I asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Twenty-seven," he replied in a gravelly voice.

"I'm twenty-three." I wanted this to feel like a conversation, not an interrogation.

Emmett nodded, crossing his arms, clearly not interested in what I had to say.

This was harder than I expected. I was brimming with questions and yet I had nothing to say. I felt like I was walking on eggshells.

But I cleared my throat and carried on. "Why did you try to rob me?"

"Easy target," Emmett muttered.

"Why was I the easy target?"

"You looked distracted." He paused, a small smile forming on his lips. "And you're kind of scrawny."

The shot at me made me smile as well. There was a human being beneath all this muscle.

"Would you mind telling me why you need the extra money?"

"What makes you think I don't do this all the time? That I don't have a bunch of cash saved up from robberies?" he snapped, getting defensive.

"By the looks of your attire and tanned skin, you do some outdoor work," I pointed out quietly. "Eventually I want to be paid for being observant."

Emmett leaned back. "I work in construction."

I nodded. "You don't make much?"

He shook his head reluctantly. "Too many workers."

"And that's why you attempted to rob me." It was a statement, not a question.

He nodded. "You know, _I got bills to pay, I got mouths to feed, there ain't nothing in this world for free._" Emmett shifted and stopped talking as the waitress filled our coffee cups. "_I can't slow down, I can't hold back, though, you know I wish I could._"

"You didn't seem like a regular thief," I admitted.

"You're my first attempt," he breathed, looking at nothing in particular. Then he grinned. "I guess I failed."

"I'm going to give you money, though," I pointed out.

"Yeah." He seemed lost in his thoughts. I almost didn't want to interrupt him. I let him think until our food was brought out. Emmett was like a vacuum. He must have been ravenous all day with nothing to devour but his own worries.

Emmett finally broke down the walls after he finished eating.

"I think this is the first real meal I've had in a month," he admitted lowly. "I work hard every day, six days a week, from seven a.m. to six p.m., and I still don't make enough to provide for my family." He shook his head, clearly disappointed in himself. "I live in a poor excuse for a house a couple of blocks away from here with my wife, three kids, and my ma. Ma's got schizophrenia and we give three-quarters of our paycheques to her medication. My wife, Courtney, is a nurse at Seattle Grace, but she only works part-time 'cause of the kids. Janel's only a year old." Emmett looked at the table, but I could still see the tears in his eyes. "I don't know what I've done to deserve so many good things right in the middle of this hell hole."

"Have you always lived in Rainier?" I prompted.

"No," Emmett spat bitterly. "I grew up in Brooklyn, which is way worse. We moved here after Luke was born, six years ago. I don't know why now. Life could have been better there. We both had steady jobs and plenty of friends."

"Were all your friends good for a family though?" I asked. Many times people from rough backgrounds stayed loyal to their friends, no matter how corrupt they were.

He shrugged. "Some were alright, I guess." His face got dark. "Not all of them though."

My hands wrapped around my coffee mug, warming them while I waited for Emmett to continue.

"I went to jail because of my 'best friend' in senior year," Emmett murmured finally. "He had stolen a car and burnt it one weekend. I got framed by him somehow. I don't even remember what exactly happened because I was so upset. I was in jail for three months though." He sighed. "It really opened my eyes."

"I bet," I breathed before finishing my cup of coffee. "Did anything...happen to you?"

"No, God no," Emmett replied instantly. "Look at me, Edward. I'm too big to be a bitch."

We both chuckled at that.

"I'm glad to hear that," I told him while standing up. "Now, how much cash do you need?"

Emmett shuffled his feet around. He didn't want my money now. He was not made for this kind of life. I pulled out my wallet. I had two-hundred dollars in there, after paying for our meals. I held it out.

"This isn't much, but I can always give you more if you need it," I murmured. "Just stop by my apartment." I quickly jotted my address down on my napkin.

"Edward, I don't–"

"Take it," I insisted, curling his fingers around the wad of cash.

Emmett smiled weakly. "Thank you very much. I've never been so grateful in my life."

"Don't worry about it."

We went our separate ways. Emmett Jonathan McCarty was shot three days later in the very back alley that we met in. The shot went through the back of his skull, penetrating his brain, instantly killing him. No pain, no suffering, just a clean shot to the head. His face was even left unharmed for the funeral. The police report said that he was walking home from work and stopped to pick up a penny off the ground, probably for some luck. The person that shot him must have somehow lured him into the alley before sneaking up behind him and pushing the cool metal against his head.

I know the feeling; it isn't a very good one.


	4. The Crazy ExGirlfriend

**The italics in this one are from the song _Gunpowder and Lead _by Miranda Lambert.**

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"Now I know I'm not a saint,  
I've been a sinner all my life,  
I ain't tryin' to have no buds,  
I'd rather keep them in the line,  
They wanna criticize you now,  
Cast another stone,  
Burn me at the stake and see them watch it from the dome."  
- In One Ear – Cage the Elephant

The Crazy Ex-Girlfriend

My aunt Samantha asked me to come down to Texas for a visit on the Friday after I talked to Emmett, the day after he was killed. I hopped on the first plane out of Seattle to Houston, where my aunt was waiting for me. She got teary-eyed when I hugged her. We barely ever saw each other, and my mother was her twin. She was lost without her for the longest time, but it had been six years since it happened.

Aunt Sam was my favourite aunt, mostly because of my cousin, Alice. She was the only cousin I had my age, and we were best friends because of that.

Unfortunately, we fell out of touch when Alice turned sixteen. She fell desperately in love with James Marshall, a twenty-year-old pedophile look-alike. Aunt Sam couldn't control her. Alice flew the coop, moved to Atlanta with the creep, and no one had heard of her since then. Aunt Sam couldn't even get a hold of her when my parents died.

The car ride to the family acreage was silent aside from the country music in the background. After an hour and a half of boredom, we were finally there.

"Now, just wait a second, Edward," Aunt Sam said before I could get out of the car. "Alice came home a few days ago." I blinked in surprise. "She's...she's not doing so well. Just be careful, ya hear?"

"Sure, Aunt Sam," I murmured, opening the door and getting out.

Alice was sitting on the porch. She looked the same as she did when she was sixteen. Inky black hair that was chaotically spiked all over her head, tanned skin, and very pretty in a childish way. She was a petite thing, wearing short jean shorts and a white tank top without any shoes. She was smoking a cigarette and cleaning a shotgun carefully. Her electric blue eyes darted around the yard, never stopping on something for more than a few seconds. She looked the same, but she wasn't the Alice I left behind here. She looked damaged, scarred, maybe for life. I had the second candidate for my assignment.

"Hey, Mama," Alice greeted quietly as Aunt Sam climbed the steps onto the porch. "What'd you bring home?"

Aunt Sam smiled weakly. "You remember Edward, don't ya, Ali?"

Alice's eyes darted to me, quickly looking me over before flitting back to her mother.

"My cousin Edward?" she asked.

"Yes." Aunt Sam gave me a pleased smile. "Why don't you come into the house, dear? I'll show ya your room."

I nodded and followed her.

"Hey, Al," I greeted as I passed my cousin.

"Hey, Edward," she replied.

And that was it. Alice had definitely changed. She used to talk a mile a minute, never stopping, not even when she was asleep.

The room I was staying in used to be where my mother and father would sleep when we stayed her. It was the same as always, white lace curtains, pale yellow walls, king-sized bed with a blue quilt... Everything remained the same on the family farm except the people.

I helped Aunt Sam with supper while I watched Alice clean her gun and rock back and forth on her creaky rocking chair, waiting for something or someone to come down the driveway.

"Should I get Alice for supper?" I asked Aunt Sam after we finished setting the table.

Aunt Sam shook her head. "She'll eat when she's ready. Ain't no use in pushin' her while she's in that state of mind."

So, we ate by ourselves and then watched the news. I heard Alice creep in and grab something before heading back out to the porch to watch the driveway like a guard dog. This was when I also found out that Emmett had been killed. I was shocked at how quickly his body had been discovered, the police usually didn't find bodies in Rainier for at least a week.

"I'm going to head to bed," I told my aunt. I couldn't sit around anymore, watching the news.

"Okay, honey."

I was far from sleep and my room wasn't comforting in the least bit. I stared at the cloudless night sky for an hour, listening to my iPod and occasionally writing my thoughts down. At around nine p.m. Aunt Sam went to bed. Another hour passed and I couldn't lie in bed any longer. I would have to pace the farmyard for a few hours before the restlessness would leave my mind. I pulled on my jacket and stepped outside into the cool summer air. Alice was still cleaning that gun.

"Oh, hey, Alice," I said in surprise. "Aren't you cold?"

"Just numb," she muttered with a shrug, stroking the gun gently, almost caressing it.

"What's the gun for?" I asked, sitting down on the bench adjacent to her rocking chair and pulling out my moleskin and pen.

"James," she snarled, her eyes flashing with anger.

"What'd he do?" I pressed.

"_Slapped my face and shook me like a ragdoll_." She laughed humourlessly. "_Don't that sound like a real man?_"

"When did he do this to you, Al?" I breathed, shocked at what my cousin was telling me.

"Last week," she whispered. "I came home right after."

"Good for you," I commended, writing furiously.

"_He ain't seen me crazy yet_," she continued as if she hadn't heard me. "_I'm gunna show him what this little girl's made of: gunpowder and lead_." A queer sound escaped her throat, something between a sob and a cackle. "_His fist is big, but my gun's bigger. He'll find out when I pull the trigger_."

"You're...you're going to kill him?" I asked, almost nervous to find out the answer.

Alice nodded and wiped the tears from her face. "He asked me t' marry him, Edward. That's all he wanted, was for t' marry him, and I said no. I liked things they way they were. We was livin' the life we always wanted, y'know? Sleep all day, party all night, no worry in the world 'cept where we were gunna party. We both made plenty of money, that wasn't a problem. I–I don't know what happened." Then she broke down, sobbing and clutching the gun to her chest. "James, he just – he just snapped! Called me a dumb bitch and told me I was worthless." She looked at me with wild eyes. "I'm not worthless, am I, Edward?"

"No, of course not, Al," I reassured her quickly. "You're still my best friend, even if I haven't seen you in forever."

She calmed down a bit when I said that. Her breathing evened out slightly.

"I had a baby, y'know," she told me after she wiped the last of her tears and snot away. "We gave her up for adoption, though. James doesn't like kids much.

"Did you want to keep her?" I asked.

Alice got a wistful look on her face. "Oh, yes. She was an angel. She was perfect and I loved her from the moment I saw her. But James knows best, he always knows best." It sounded like her mantra, the words she lived by, and that scared me.

"Have you reported him, Al?" I asked, looking right into her eyes, even though they weren't focussed on me.

She shook her head. "No, I can't do that. I _love_ him. I love him more than life itself. If he went to jail because of me, I'd die. I'd kill myself without him."

"Is this the first time he's hurt you?"

"No," Alice sighed. "He's always hurt me, but I always hurt him first. I don't deserve him."

My cousin had been brainwashed by her abusive boyfriend. She was going insane without him right now and he probably knew it, too.

"Why do you want to kill him if you love him so much, then?" I asked.

"Oh, I won't kill him," she assured me. "I'll just torture him so that I won't be pushed around anymore."

Well, I guess that was a good thing, in a twisted way. I probably should have reported this, but I almost felt relieved that Alice was going to stick up for herself.

"Why did you run away with James in the first place, Al?" I asked, daring to trek into taboo territory. "My parents died while you were gone, I had no idea where you were."

She looked at me with tears in her eyes. "I just needed t' get away and James was leavin'. I had been the perfect daughter for sixteen years and I was _tired._ I wanted my own life. But I'm sorry I wasn't there for ya, Edward. I really am. I missed ya."

Alice got up and threw her arms around me, laying her head on my shoulder. My arms wrapped themselves around her too-small waist. I loved this girl, even though she abandoned me.

"I needed you, Al," I murmured over her shoulder.

"I know," she whispered back. "And I needed ya. I just didn't realize it until now."

We let go eventually. I went back into the house and stared at the sky some more, still thinking about Alice and her man.

Could Alice be considered unacceptable? I wasn't entirely sure. She was socially unacceptable by association, I guess. A man that beats his girl is looked down upon automatically, as he should be. But, could Alice be unacceptable? She had been abused many times, and more than just physically, I'm sure. Usually people pitied the victims in these situations. Alice was going to fight back though, and not with a lawsuit, but with a shotgun. She thought she would only torture him with that gun, but if she aimed properly, she could kill him in one shot.

The sun began rising and I realized that I wasn't going to fall asleep, so I went downstairs again. I pushed open the front door and watched a truck pull into the driveway. The vehicle stopped and my breathing ceased.

A man stepped out of driver's door. He was a greasy son of a bitch. Long blonde dreads, a black vest, blue jeans, and bare feet. He still had the same creepy smile as when I last met him, like he was looking for the youngest girl in the room that would be willing to hide away in the closet with him.

"Alice," his low voice greeted.

"James," Alice replied, sounding sane now.

"How are ya, baby?" He grinned like a Cheshire cat, beckoning her to join in his madness. I noticed that he was holding a handgun.

"Fine."

"What's with the gun?" he asked, nodding towards the shotgun currently pointed at the deck.

"What was with the beating?" Alice retorted, standing up tall.

"I'm sorry." He didn't sound sincere at all.

"Me too."

Bang. No more James. Alice was breathing heavily. Her hands came to her face, and her long nails began clawing at her face, the blood dripping onto the deck as she hyperventilated. Then she ripped out her hair for a while before stiffening with the gun in her hand

Bang. Goodbye, Alice.

* * *

**Things are going to get seriously fucked after this. **

**Just FYI.**


	5. The Corrupt Priest

**No lyrics this time. And this is where it gets fucky, P.S.**

**

* * *

  
**

"You think you're so sly  
You tried to roll by  
You played the safe side."  
- James Brown – Cage the Elephant

The Corrupt Priest

Aunt Sam begged me to stay behind for the funeral. Of course I would stay. I couldn't just leave her like this. She was falling apart. Maybe I could take her with me to Seattle. Then again, I lived in a hole in the wall. She probably wouldn't want to leave anyway. This had been her home since she'd been born.

She called the family priest immediately the next morning. I'd tried to clean most of the carnage up before Aunt Sam woke up, but she heard the gunshots. She came flying down the stairs, her own shotgun in her hands, looking wild. Then she saw the bodies and she let out a keening cry, fainting soon after. I let her lie there. Maybe I'd finish cleaning up by the time she was awake again.

It was lunch by the time I'd washed all the blood off the porch and got James and Alice onto the porch. Bodies were so much heavier once they were dead. I took one of the cigarettes out of the pack that Alice had left on the porch and lit it up. I wasn't much of a smoker, but this situation called for one. I inhaled the toxins deeply, revelling in something that I could actually control feeling. I hadn't broken down yet, not even after watching Alice's skull crack from the shards of the bullet and seeing some of her brain leak out of the holes.

No, I was still fine.

Aunt Sam came around soon after, completely dazed.

"What happened?" she croaked, refusing to look at the porch.

"James came here. I think he wanted to kill Alice, because he had a gun, but Alice beat him to the punch. She shot him, and then realized what she'd done and shot herself." I said all of this rather stoically. I was still in shock, I think.

"Sweet Jesus," Aunt Sam gasped.

I nodded and walked into the kitchen to get her a glass of water and some Advil.

"Here, take these," I murmured, handing her the cup and the pills. "Who should we phone?"

"Father Carlisle," Aunt Sam answered before gulping down the pills. "He's our priest. He'll know what to do." Then she stood up, not even wobbling for a second, and went to the phone. She talked quietly with the priest for ten minutes. She sobbed and wailed, and nodded, wiping her tears away.

"He'll be here in twenty minutes," she announced as she hung up the phone.

Once again, I nodded and went into the kitchen. I sat down at the table, twiddling my thumbs and bouncing my leg. I needed to do something. I needed to get out of this house and away from these bodies. Aunt Sam began cooking and the smell of bacon filled my nostrils. I couldn't take it. I stood up and headed upstairs, opening the window and sitting on the bed. I grabbed my notebook and scribbled furiously, writing down everything I knew about James and Alice. It was refreshing. I could feel the rage and the guilt leaving my body with every word I wrote down.

This exercise had only just begun when I heard a truck rumbling as it entered the yard. It had to be the priest. I watched from the window. An elderly man stepped out of the truck, wearing black. His hair was somewhere between blonde and white and his face was wrinkled. He looked sadly at what I assumed would be Alice and James on the porch. Aunt Sam burst through the door soon after, throwing herself at the man. He hugged her tightly, smoothing her hair down and whispering in her ear. He didn't look terribly sad, but he probably didn't know Alice very well.

"Edward?" Aunt Sam called, looking directly at me in the window. "Come down and meet Father Carlisle."

The bed groaned as I stood up. I slowly made my way down the stairs and outside. I glanced at the bodies on the porch. They were turning gray already.

"Hello, Edward," Father Carlisle greeted, holding out his hand to me. I grasped it with a nod and a grim half-smile. "Samantha tells me that you're her nephew."

"Yeah," I replied, letting go of his wrinkly hand and shoving my fingers in my pocket.

Father Carlisle nodded, smiling. "Well, Samantha thinks we should just bury the bodies here. No one really knew James or Alice here."

"Sure," I breathed. "Let's get this over with then."

"Can you begin digging the graves then?" He smiled at me again.

I shrugged and went to grab a shovel.

Three hours later, I was finished digging both graves. They were going to be buried beneath the big oak tree in the backyard. Father Carlisle and Aunt Sam had been watching me the whole time, sipping on iced tea and talking. Aunt Sam seemed troubled. She brought Father Carlisle a cheque and they continued talking. She had to pay him for this?

I brought Alice and James to their graves and threw them in. No use in handling them gently anymore. Their bodies were vacant.

"I'm done," I announced, coming into the house.

"Good, good," Father Carlisle murmured. He looked dishevelled. His hair was askew and his clothes weren't as straight anymore. "Samantha? Are you ready?"

Aunt Sam came out the kitchen looking teary-eyed and just as messy as the priest. Had they..? Oh, fuck, I hope not.

"What the hell's going on here?" I asked lowly, my eyes going back and forth between the priest and my aunt.

Aunt Sam cleared her throat, refusing to look me in the eyes. "Nothing, hon. Let's go."

I could feel my nostrils flaring. Something was wrong here. But, we all went out the backyard anyway. I had placed sticks at the heads of the graves, just so Aunt Sam would remember where her baby girl was buried.

Father Carlisle said very few words, but Aunt Sam was still bawling. She clutched to the dirty priest like he was her life preserver in a storm. God, it was sickening.

"Father Carlisle, can I speak to you?" I asked after the "service" was finished. "Alone?"

"Sure, Edward." We began walking towards the large garden that Aunt Sam kept. She walked into the house, probably to break down again. Maybe she'd start drinking again after this.

"What the fuck are you doing with my aunt?" I growled once I heard the back door close.

"It's none of your concern, son," the priest answer smoothly, looking at the garden, his hands behind his back. "I'm just a priest."

"A dirty fucking priest at that. Why did Aunt Sam have to pay you?"

"I need money, too," he replied. "I can't live off the fat of the land like these other priests. I'm realistic."

"Fuck you," I spat. "I can't believe you'd expect someone to pay you for a funeral, even if it was spur of the moment. Aunt Sam just lost her only daughter. I lost my cousin. How can you expect someone to pay you for that kind of pain?"

Father Carlisle shrugged. "Samantha knew what would happen. She's always known."

"So she knew that she'd have to fuck you, too? Or was that just a side deal?"

Father Carlisle chuckled and shook his head. "Edward, you don't know the way things work here. You can't just come in from Seattle, all high and mighty, and expect everything to be how you thought it would be. You're in Texas now."

"I know where I am!" I exclaimed, very frustrated with this man. "And my expectations have nothing to do with this. This isn't normal. This isn't right, and you know it. You can't make people pay you for funerals; you can't make people fuck you while their grieving. It's not moral, and you're a priest."

"This is the way it is," Father Carlisle stated. "This is the way it always will be."

"What else do you do? Steal money from the church? Rape the young boys and girls?"

Father Carlisle just smiled at me. I almost threw up on Aunt Sam's pumpkin patch.

"You're a sick fuck," I growled, storming away from that sad excuse for a man.

He was a horrible person, but he was perfect for my project. I had to talk to him more, as much as I didn't want to.

So, I turned around. "Why do you do all of this? How can you rationalize this?"

He pondered my question. "I can do this because I know I'm capable. People wouldn't report a priest. They all think I do this because I'm helping them on their way to heaven. I can manipulate the people around me with a few words. I tell them this will bring them closer to God, closer to heaven, and they'll do anything I say. It's the perfect crime. They're willing to let me do all of this just because of a non-existent God."

"You don't even believe in God? Why'd you become a priest then?" I couldn't fathom this man's reasoning. He was insane.

"The power. It may not seem like much power to anyone else, but this kind of power is rare, and it's wonderful," Father Carlisle told me. "I can't explain how good it feels to be in charge of an entire congregation."

I walked away then. I didn't need to hear anything more. Usually I was detached from my research, but Father Carlisle made that impossible. He was a person that you just wanted to strangle, to shake around until they just stopped. Someone you'd be willing to kill without a second though just because he was so evil.

My plane left that night for Seattle. I couldn't be around these people anymore. I had to get back to what I considered to be reality. What I considered to be normal.

Father Carlisle had been killed that afternoon, after he left Aunt Sam's farm. Someone had been lost and asked him for directions. Father Carlisle had given them the directions and asked for a few dollars, seeing as he was a poor priest. The person became upset, couldn't believe that he would ask for money for something like directions. The person had a shovel. The person got out of their truck and swung the shovel with such a force that it killed him. The person then stabbed the priest's dead body with the sharp end of the shovel repeatedly until his stomach was nothing but an open pot of bloodied guts.

I couldn't even take a second to say a prayer for the son of a bitch. Instead, a grabbed a beer and held it up to the sky, thanking God for finally getting rid of another corrupt person.


	6. The Drug Dealer

"Fresh smell of death on your tongue  
You bait the hook and here come the children  
Another grave stone to sell  
While you get rich in the valley of hell."  
- Drones in the Valley – Cage the Elephant

The Drug Dealer

One would think that a man would be devastated after seeing the body of his murdered cousin drowning in her own blood. I wasn't devastated, I was pissed off. How could a nation become so corrupt? How could so many people be so wicked to the very core of their being? Maybe I was the lucky bastard that just got stuck with all the bad people in the world.

The first thing I did when I got home was buy a bottle of Jack Daniels and a bag of ice. I knew I had cigarettes left in my apartment, unless someone had broken in while I was gone. The cigarettes would have been the only thing worth anything in the entire building.

My taxi driver was silent on the ride home, thank God. I paid him and stepped out onto the constantly damp sidewalk with a sigh. It was odd, but I felt safe here, standing in the middle of the highest crime rate in Seattle. I was home again.

That night was long and torturous. I drank my whiskey and smoked all my cigarettes one after another. I tried piecing my paper together, but Alice's dead blue eyes were the only thing that came to my otherwise blank mind. I watched the news, but it was the same old shit that those news anchors talked about every God damn night at six.

By ten o'clock, my mind was foggy and the world was looking a little less dreary. I threw the last few drops of my cup down my throat and then stumbled around my apartment, grabbing my jacket, my keys, and my bottle of Jack. I lit another cigarette as my feet tumbled down the stairs and onto the street. I finally inhaled, relieved that my lungs were constricting once more. Smoking made me feel more alive, ironically. Every time I inhaled and my lungs felt like they were going to shrivel up, I felt more real, more here and now.

My journey to nowhere in particular got me to a small club down the street from my apartment. I finished my cigarette and shoved the bottle into my pocket, flashing my I.D. and brushing past the bouncer.

It was one of those clubs that was mostly for girls. There were men, but it was clear that they were only there for tail. What normal man wouldn't be? My odds of getting laid were extremely high tonight. Maybe that's exactly what I needed. A good fuck from a pretty girl with a tight cunt.

Thankfully every girl was just as drunk as me, if not even more intoxicated. I started talking to a short girl with really curly hair. My theory was that if her hair was spun that tightly, she had to be mentally unsound in the sack. Unfortunately, the girl's voice was far too annoying for me to handle. Then I began talking to a silver blonde girl, but, once again, the sound of her voice coming through her nose wasn't very appealing.

This happened to me several more times. I'd start talking to a woman that met my physical standards and then I'd find some annoying flaw, something that made me want to laugh right in her face when she tried to seduce me. Usually I wasn't this mean, but the whiskey was really getting to my head.

I decided to take a break from my search. I went to the bathroom and somehow managed to undo the zipper on my jeans. I don't think I've ever felt so relieved in my life. Too bad pissing didn't feel as good as an orgasm. Then I wouldn't have to fucking find someone decent enough to take home with me.

My hopes weren't as high once I stumbled back out into the bar. I sat down on the bar stool and just watched. When did I become so brooding? I had always been judgemental, but I was never so dark before. I had my opinions about people and I wasn't afraid to let them fly. That's why I didn't have friends at college.

"It's kind of pathetic, isn't it?" a bored voice asked me. I didn't bother to turn around. "All these girls and not one of them have anything to offer besides a loose pussy."

I turned around. There was a tall, slim, blonde sitting beside me. She was very pretty, prettier by far than any other girl in the bar. And, as a bonus, the sound of her voice didn't make me want to hit my head against concrete.

"Well, what makes you so different?" I asked. She had a head on her shoulders, not a balloon full of air. Maybe it wasn't such a bad idea to come to the bar.

She smiled briefly at me. "I'm not a virgin, so I may not be tight, but at least I can talk about something besides random shit like how good you look or how well you dance," she replied. "Now, what makes you different from every other creep in this bar? Why don't you have a girl grinding on you?"

"For one thing, I don't _grind,_" I told her. "People over the age of twenty-one shouldn't 'grind.' And, I'm just feeling selective tonight. I don't want to wake up in the morning and hear a voice that I want to kill."

"So, every single girl here has an annoying voice?" she asked. When I nodded, she snorted. "Well, good luck with ever finding a voice you don't hate in the morning. Girls were made to be annoying."

"Apparently."

We sat in silence, watching the almost orgy going on in front of us on the dance floor. I had another whiskey and she got a bottle of water. Curious. She wasn't drinking.

"I'm Edward, by the way," I told her, breaking our silence.

"Rosalie," she replied, shaking my hand quickly, like this was business instead of leisure. She looked at her watch and sighed. "Listen, I usually don't do this, but do you want to come to my apartment with me? I just live down the street."

"Sure," I answered automatically.

She smiled briefly and then we began leaving the bar. We got out onto the street and we both lit a cigarette.

"So, Edward, are you originally from Rainier Beach?" Rosalie asked as she exhaled the smoke that had been painting her lungs with tar.

"No," I exhaled, blowing out my smoke as well. "I'm from Chicago. I'm going to the University of Washington."

Rosalie whistled. "College boy, huh? I knew you weren't from Rainier. Too pretty for an inner city boy. Too smart."

My brow creased. I was too pretty for Rainier? "What is that supposed to mean?"

She laughed quietly. "That club is full of Rainier natives, Edward. I've known most of those people my whole life. I know Rainier, that's all. I knew as soon as you shut Jessica Stanley down that you weren't from around here. Smart boy." She smiled at me.

"So you've always lived in Rainier then?" I presumed.

"Yep," Rosalie replied. "Born and raised. Haven't ever left, probably never will."

"You must like it here," I concluded.

Rosalie shook her head with a small smile. "No, I hate it. But Rainier's a black hole as far as I'm concerned. Only three out of forty kids in my class went to college. Only twenty-five of us passed. Hell, ten of us died before grad." She shook her head again. "That's nothing new, though."

I nodded, pretending to be empathetic. There had been four hundred kids in my class. I didn't know any of them well enough to care what happened to them.

"Well, here we are," Rosalie announced. "It's a shithole, but what apartment here isn't?"

I followed her to the second floor. She opened the door and led me into an apartment that was a lot like mine, except cleaner and homier.

"Want something to drink?" she asked, pulling off her sweater. "Or do you want to just get down to business?"

We went to straight into business, and that's exactly what it felt like. It was like we were obligated to fuck each other because we were a lot alike. Don't get me wrong, Rosalie was a hot girl and a good lay, but she didn't blow my mind. We both got off, though, and that's all that really mattered.

By the time we cleaned up and rested for a while, it was already three o'clock in the morning. I didn't feel the need to go back to my shithole though. I wanted to stay.

"Why don't you drink?" I asked when Rosalie brought me a beer and herself a glass of water.

"I don't like getting crunk," she replied, taking a sip of water. "Some people love that feeling, but I just feel useless. I'd rather smoke weed than drink.

So she did drugs. That wasn't uncommon in Rainier. I'd be surprised if there was one person in my apartment building that hadn't at least tried drugs.

"You just do weed?" I asked before taking a swig of my beer.

"Yeah, but I used to do the hard stuff, too." She lit a joint and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes and looking silently euphoric. "I was hooked on meth for a long time."

"What made you quit?"

Rosalie shrugged and watched the smoke drift out the open window. "My dad was into the drug business. I've been around drugs all my life. But then my ex, uh, died from an overdose." She blinked back some tears. "That was when I was sixteen. Haven't touched the stuff since."

"Good for you," I murmured.

She nodded, trying to smile. "Yeah, I guess so." She continued to smoke while I drank. There was a nice, soothing silence.

"Do you smoke weed?" asked Rosalie. "I could hook you up if you do."

"You sell drugs?" I asked in disbelief. She didn't seem like the type, especially after hearing about her old boyfriend.

"Yeah." She inhaled again. "You wouldn't believe the money I make. People tend to trust a girl more than a guy when it comes to drugs. And since my dad was infamous around Rainier, my client list is pretty big, too."

"What happened to your dad?"

"He's in jail right now." Another inhale. "He was importing from Portland."

"How long is he in there for?"

"Oh, I'd say at least another five years," Rosalie guessed, exhaling a smoke ring. "Maybe more, maybe less. Who knows?"

"So you just took over for him basically."

"I guess you could say that," she murmured. "But I only deal with weed. I even bought an apartment to grow in."

"No one checks on it?"

"How long have you been living here, Edward?" Rosalie asked with an arched eyebrow. Apparently that was a stupid question.

"Around six months."

"And in these six months, have you ever seen a policeman that was the least bit worried about what goes on in the apartment buildings?"

I shook my head.

"Exactly. As long as I don't get reported, I'll be fine."

"You sell weed even though you've had people die because of OD's and your dad's in jail because he's a dealer," I concluded. "I don't get it."

"It doesn't need to make sense," Rosalie muttered. "Yes, drugs have affected my life in a negative way, but they've also helped me. I make money and I feel good. That's enough reason for me."

People usually didn't surprise me. I could usually figure a person out within minutes of meeting them. Their body language, their facial expression, their tone of voice. I'd become an expert on it all. But Rosalie took me by surprise. I thought maybe she wasn't as materialistic as everyone else. I thought maybe I'd finally found someone that was enough to keep me occupied, to keep me guessing. I was obviously wrong.

Everyone was about money and status, especially in a low-income area. If you didn't have money, you'd die because you couldn't pay back your debt or because you'd eventually starve to death. If you didn't have status, you didn't have protection from the ever-present gangs in American society.

"How do you do business by yourself?" I asked. "I mean, aren't there assholes around here that would try to fuck around with you because you're a girl?"

"My dad's buddies" – in other words, her father's gang members – "are with me whenever I meet with someone. They're looking out for me most of the time."

"Has anyone tried to pull anything on you?"

"Well, yeah," Rosalie replied. "When I first started out, I was by myself. Then Dad heard that I ended up in the hospital because of this asshole, Royce, that beat the shit out of me. He put me under the watchful eyes of his group."

Her eyes were hard, like sapphires. She was a person that you didn't screw around with because she'd come back with a vengeance. There was no doubt in my mind that Royce had been found face down in an alleyway.

The sun was making an appearance now. I checked my watch. Four A.M. I had an 8:30 class. Thankfully I was sobering up.

"I should go," I murmured, standing up. "I have class in a couple of hours."

Rosalie nodded. "Okay, I'll see you around, I guess."

"Sure."

That morning at 7:45, Rosalie Hale's weed apartment was burnt with her inside. All of her long, beautiful blonde hair was disintegrated. Her body resembled charcoal. Her bones were black and her skin was nothing more than powder. The only reason they could tell who the body belonged to was because of her dental records. She died when she was only nineteen-years-old.

She had such a promising future.


	7. The Mental Hermaphrodite

"In the depths of my mind I laid sleeping  
Well I had such a dream when I woke I was weeping  
The vision I saw danced around me  
And my heart saw the things that my eyes couldn't see."  
- Soil to the Sun – Cage the Elephant

The Mental Hermaphrodite

I was over half done my research. I only needed three more people. Luckily enough, the people usually found me. It was like I was a magnet for misfits. At this point, I didn't mind. Anything that could help me with The Project was a good thing, even if that meant something bad would inevitably happen.

My life was left in ashes, but I refused to acknowledge this fact. I had lost family while The Project was in progress, my own health was going to shit, and my trust fund was slowly diminishing because I lost my job at the library on campus. I made myself focus on finishing The Project the way _I_ wanted to: without any cliché's.

The Project was my obsession. It was all my brain was trained to think about because thinking about anything else led to pain and I'd already dealt with my fair share of pain in my twenty-three-years of living. I'd been thrown into a pile of shit the day I was born and even though I was out of the pile, I still reeked of feces, and if I stoppedto smell myself, I was taken back to the same mountain of crap.

In my spare time, I drew and took pictures, two things that could successfully take my mind off of everything, including The Project. Although many people hated the gloomy weather in Seattle, I flourished in it. Besides the fact that my pale skin did nothing but burn, I liked the unexpected rain. Most places in the world have predictable weather; if there are clouds, odds are it will rain. In Seattle, you never know if it's going to remain cloudy, start raining, or give you a giant thunderstorm that will rock the skyscrapers.

Today was a drawing day. I grabbed my iPod and my sketchbook and headed to the nearest park, sitting down at one of the chess tables and beginning to lightly shade the entire canvas gray.

Birds were migrating back to Canada, but they were so high above us that they were just black outlines of anonymous aves. I blared the music in my ears, blocking out the real world successfully. It was just the gray sky, the birds, my paper and charcoal, my music, and me now. What a perfect world to exist in.

According to my watch, I sat at the chess table and sketched for two hours. To me, it felt like mere minutes. That was the biggest problem with music. It made me lose track of time. If I didn't have windows in my apartment, I would have never been awake at the proper times.

Most people would pack up and leave the park after realizing they had been sitting here for two hours. Usually a person would be shocked that they had wasted two hours of their life. I started packing up my stuff when I realized that I had nowhere to be. I literally had no life. I had no friends, basically no family, and no job. All I had was The Project. This fact saddened me.

What sort of life did I lead? I was socially inept, only talking to people I needed answers from. The only real friend I had ever had was Alice, but I lost her a long time ago and never bothered to replace her. I could have become friends with Emmett, but all chances of that were destroyed from the moment I met him. We were both flawed beyond normal standards. One of us had to become clean in the end.

So, as it dawned on me that I was a fucking failure at life, I sat down and unpacked my things so I could drown my emotions once again.

I drew until it was too dark for me to see. My eyes were burning from overuse, my ears were ringing from the music that had been blasting through my ear buds, and my right hand was aching. I had probably given myself carpal tunnel.

As I was packing my things up again, a man walked through the mostly empty park. He was mumbling to himself. The man looked absolutely insane. His dark eyes darted around wildly, his pupils as wide as saucers. He also looked homeless. It looked like he hadn't showered in weeks, months even, and his clothes were dirty and ragged. He was wearing a wool cap that covered his dirty blonde, shaggy hair; a gigantic, off-black turtleneck; and a brown, leather trench coat and some track pants.

I observed him for a while. Sometimes he'd talk to inanimate objects, like bushes and lampposts, and sometimes he'd talk to something that I couldn't see, a person that only existed in his mind.

The entire time I watched him, all I could think was, _He's perfect for The Project._ What was more unacceptable that a crazy homeless guy? People literally tremble in fear of people like this man. I was usually scared when I met this brand of human on the street as well, but I couldn't find the fear anymore.

"Hey!" I called.

The man's head snapped towards my voice. He was looking in my direction, but I wasn't sure if he was actually seeing me.

"Over here!" I called again.

He rushed towards the table, practically sprinting across the park until he sat down across from me at the chess table, his wild eyes never settling on a single object for more than a second or two.

"Hello, there," I greeted with a smile. "What's your name?"

"What's your name? What's your name?" he mimicked. "He wants our name. Jasper, Jasper Whitlock."

To be honest, I was fucking scared. I was trembling. I didn't know what this guy was capable of.

"I'm Edward Masen," I replied, trying to keep my voice from quivering. "Where are you from, Jasper?"

"Where _are_ we from, Jasper?" he asked himself quizzically. "Is it Minnesota or Missouri?" He looked at me with an embarrassed smile. "We can't remember." He said it like he was apologizing because he didn't have any cream to put in my coffee.

"I'm from Chicago originally," I said quietly. "In Illinois."

"Yes, we were in Illinois," Jasper murmured, his eyes still shifting rapidly. "We were locked up in Illinois. White rooms, tight jackets, bad food. Yes, yes, we hate Illinois."

"How old are you, Jasper?" I asked.

"We don't know," Jasper admitted. "Maybe sixty, maybe fifteen. Time moves differently in different areas."

"You're right, time is a little tricky," I agreed. "Do you know if your other voice has a name? Or are both of you Jasper?"

Jasper laughed loudly. "No, no, no. We're not both Jasper. Jasper hides in the corner, that little fucker. I am Marie."

"Marie?" I asked for clarification. Jasper nodded, a proud smile on his face. So he wasn't schizophrenic. He had MPD. "Sorry for calling you Jasper then."

"Happens all the time," she reassured me. "But I am Jasper!" It was the real Jasper emerging. "My body, it's my body!" There were a million emotions flitting across Jasper's face. "Shut up, you fucking retard!"

There was an internal battle waging in front of me. Jasper was panting as he began to physically abuse himself, the voice switching back and forth between Marie and Jasper.

I just sat there and watched. I should have ran and left this tiny bubbled of madness far behind, but the sting of realizing I was a worthless being held me there.

_You have nothing better to do,_ my brain reminded me.

Although that was true, I should have left. I really had no idea what this crazy son-of-a-bitch was going to do. I wasn't expecting a knife to come out of his pocket. I wasn't expecting to see a full-grown man stab himself repeatedly in the chest, neck, and abdomen to try and rid himself of the demons overpowering his mind.

I finally came to my senses. And then I blacked out. When I woke up, I was in the hospital and it was already light out. I was later told that I was lying several yards away from a dead, wanted criminal. Jasper Whitlock finally rid his body of his demons.

* * *

Did you get the title? Kind of like having MPD, but having one of the personalities as the opposite sex... That was how the title came to me. Just so you know.


	8. The Abusive Perfectionist

"We got a hunger for destruction  
Need someone to bleed  
You sealed the deal before the dawn  
You let your actions proceed."  
- James Brown – Cage the Elephant

The Abusive Perfectionist

My recovery would be quick, the doctors told me. I'd hit my head pretty good on the sidewalk and they wanted to keep me around for observation. In other words, they wanted me to pay some extra money for absolutely no reason at all.

Honestly, I didn't care about the hospital bill I was going to receive. I was just happy to escape it all: Alice leaving, the pain I'd cared since my parents died, Alice's death, and my obsessive personality. While I lay in that hospital bed, I felt oddly peaceful and calm, like nothing could ever shake me again. Maybe I only felt safe because I knew I wasn't the craziest person in the building.

The nurse had closed the curtains around me after she'd given me my lunch.

"We have a young man coming into the bed next to you," she explained. "I don't want them to disturb you."

I nodded as she enclosed me. A few minutes later, the boy the nurse was talking about entered the room.

"Here you go, Seth," the nurse that had just spoken to me announced. "Hop under the covers and the doctor will be right with you."

The nurse left the room, closing the door behind her.

"Mommy, it hurts," the kid, Seth, whined.

"Shut up, Seth," the mother snapped. "Don't you dare open your little mouth about this, you hear me? If you say one word, I swear to God…" The open ended threat hung in the air like a bomb waiting to be dropped.

"I won't say anything," Seth whimpered.

"Good," his mother said curtly. "Besides, you know it was an accident, don't you? I didn't mean to hurt you, Seth."

"I know, Mommy."

"That's my boy."

I remained as quiet as possible. I didn't want the woman to know I was in here. I wanted to know more about her abuse towards her son.

The door opened.

"Well, Seth, it looks like you broke your wrist," the doctor announced. "Can you tell me how this happened? You've been hurt quite a few times in the past few months."

The mother laughed. Even I could tell it was forced and fake. "The poor kid takes after me, I'm afraid. So clumsy."

Dr. Idiot laughed. "Yes, I've seen you in the ER before, Esme."

"I fell down the stairs," Seth answered meekly. "I tripped over my toys."

"Which I told you to clean up." The brusque tone was back in Esme's voice. "See, if you would just _listen_ to me, stuff like this wouldn't happen. Isn't that right, Seth?"

"Yeah," Seth murmured. "I'm sorry, Mommy.

"It's okay, child," Esme assured him. "It's alright."

Yeah, it's sure alright, kid. Your mom's probably gunna beat the shit out of you when you get home. Don't worry, child, you'll survive.

Esme Platt left the hospital to get an overnight bag for her son. Turns out he had a concussion, too. But, before she could even get halfway to her suburban home, she ran a red light and got hit by a semi. The police said her brakes were worn down. Another theory was that they were cut. She ended up being decapitated by the trailer the semi was pulling. The driver tried to swerve out of the way.

Seth ended up being adopted. He seemed to recover from his clumsiness after that.

* * *

_Very short chapter. Sorry. One more chapter left. Thank you to everyone that's been reading._


	9. The End

"Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked,  
Money don't grow on trees…  
There ain't nothin' in this world for free

I know I can't slow down, I can't hold back,  
Though, you know, I wish I could."  
- Ain't No Rest for the Wicked – Cage the Elephant

The End

I sighed after I finished talking.

"Wow," Bella murmured. "That was a lot to take in."

"Yes, well, I lead a pretty fucked up life," I replied quietly.

"Don't we all," Bella agreed. She scowled before asking, "How did your parents die, Edward?"

I swallowed, my face blanching. I couldn't tell her. Then she'd know, she'd know everything… My hands shook as I ran them through my hair, letting out a breath slowly.

"Bella, I can't–"

"It's okay," she said in a soothing, running a hand down my arm. "You don't need to tell me. Must have been pretty recent, huh?"

"No." I shook my head. "It was a few years ago. I just… I trust you, Bella, but I don't want to ruin that. There's too much to tell you and once I start talking, I won't stop."

She scowled. "What do you mean?"

"Just tell me your story, please," I begged. "I'll tell you more later, I promise."

"Fine." She took a deep breath. "I used to live in Forks. It's a small town on the peninsula. I wasn't really all that bad. Sure, I drank, did drugs, fooled around with guys, but what girl doesn't in high school?

"Anyway, last year, I got caught snorting some coke in my room by my dad." She closed her eyes, smiling humorlessly. "He's a cop, so he flipped out, of course. Kicked me out and told me to never come back. I moved here with my ex, Jacob Black.

"He abandoned me a couple of months later, and I was pressed for cash, so I gave one of the guys in my apartment building a blow job for some money." She shrugged. "And now here I am. A hooker with absolutely no way out of this life."

"You haven't talked to your dad since then?" I asked.

Bella shook her head. "He'll come looking for me eventually. I'm sure Jacob's informed him of what I've been doing already, and my dad's got a grudge to get over. He'll come around soon enough."

"How long have you been doing this now?"

"Six months or so. Pays the rent," she joked, smiling for a second, her eyes watery.

My heart ached in my chest for her. It was the first time I'd felt connected to another human being, and I wasn't sure if I liked it or not. It made me feel vulnerable, like Bella had control over me. I hate that. I liked being in control. I liked being selfish. It made my decisions so much easier.

More than hat, I trusted her. I felt like I could tell her anything, and that was a damn dangerous feeling to have. I could already feel the word vomit rising in my throat. I tried swallowing it. This would only end badly if I began to talk.

"Bella, did you find it odd that everyone died after I was finished with them?" I asked quietly, opening my heart up to her.

"I hadn't really noticed," Bella replied, scowling. "Why?"

"I shouldn't tell you," I mumbled. "I really shouldn't."

"Please, Edward."

I sighed. "Sometimes I get these feelings, impulses kind of, to do things I shouldn't. When I get mad, I get too mad. And because of my mother's religious outlook on life, I've developed a sort of…phobia of certain people." I ran my hands through my hair, tugging on it. "I'm scared of wicked people, Bella."

"What do you mean, wicked?" Bella prodded.

"People like you," I replied bluntly. "Robbers, schizophrenics, murderers, people like that."

Bella scowled. "I don't understand."

I began to bounce my leg violently. "My father cheated on my mom all the time," I whispered. "My mother… She was a little off the wall. She was very extreme. She used to beat me when I did something wrong. Even little things like forgetting to say my prayers would end in pain for me." I closed my eyes, the scene flashing before my eyes.

"_Mother, I'm sixteen now, you can't pull this shit anymore!" I exclaimed as she pulled the belt off the hook, her nails biting into my ear, where she was holding me. "Let go of me."_

"_Edward, you will only learn through punishment," my mother replied cryptically._

"_Elizabeth, let go of him!" my father cried. "He's done nothing wrong!"_

_Tears filled her eyes. "I'm sorry." Her hand tightened around the belt. She cracked it across my back, her lips trembling._

"_Stop it," Father seethed, grabbing her wrists._

"_Let go of me!" she exploded, pushing him away. "Don't touch me, you cheating son of a bitch!" Her eyes widened as she realized that she'd just cursed._

_I gaped at my father. He was cheating on my mother? His wife? How could I have not noticed it?_

"_Elizabeth," Father whispered, his eyes angry. "Stop it."_

"_No! I won't!" she retaliated. "Are you scared he'll take my side? Are you scared you'll be left alone with that tramp?"_

_My head was pounding. My vision was red. This was the final straw. Physical abuse I could handle. But this kind of raw pain couldn't be contained. I left the room, my parents screaming at each other. I ended up in my rain, going immediately to my sock drawer. I pulled out my handgun, the one I'd bought off of Tyler Crowley, some thug at school. I only wanted it for protection at first, but now I needed to stop the screaming once and for all._

_My parents were still arguing when I re-entered the room._

_Mother noticed the gun first. Her eyes widened and she gasped, backing away from me. "Ed…Edward, please. Put the gun down."_

"_Why?" I asked, surprisingly calm. "So you can whip me until I bleed again?"_

_My father tried to grab me._

"_Don't touch me," I warned. "Don't lay your dirty hands on me!"_

_My vision was still red. My anger was hazing my judgment. As soon as my father attempted to move towards me again, I aimed and shot, claiming his life almost immediately when the bullet connected with his chest. My mother screamed, running to my father._

"_No, no, no," she moaned, touching his body, trying to wake him up. "Wake up, Edward."_

_Hearing his name, _my_ name, come out her lips in such a sweet way made my anger even more defined._

"_How could you?" she demanded, her voice rough with tears. "How could you do this, Edward?"_

"_Stop. Saying. My. Name," I ground out._

_She wailed, her hand clutching his dead fingers to her chest. "Edward, Edward, Edwa–"_

_I shot her as close to the throat as possible. She tried to scream, choking on her own blood. I left the room as she died. I grabbed the gasoline from the garage, poured it all over the room, and threw a match. I watched my house burn, tears streaming down my face as I watched everything that kept me grounded go up in flames._

Bella was silent, her eyes wide, her mouth open.

I was shaking. Too much, I was telling her too much.

"You killed your parents?" she gasped. "You are fucked. "I'm getting out of here–"

I grabbed her wrist. "No, don't leave. Don't you understand? They were so impure, just like Emmett, and that priest–"

"You killed those people, too?" she shrieked. "Fuck this shit! Let go of me, you twisted fuck!" She wrenched her wrist free, but I grabbed her ankle instead, dragging her back to me.

"You can't leave," I told her through grinding teeth. "I trusted you."

Tears filled her eyes as she struggled to try to get away.

"Bella, I really wanted to like you," I sighed. "I really did." I stood up and walked to the door, blocking her only way out. "And now you've left me no choice." I grabbed my gun off of the counter.

_Bang._

I looked down. Blood began leaking out of the hole in my abdomen. I scowled at Bella. She was holding a gun in shaking hands and her purse was by her feet. She must have been carrying a gun for protection. I fell to my knees, suddenly dizzy. She beat me to the punch, and now I was going to die.

"Now we've rid ourselves of one more wicked person," she snarled as she walked by. "See you in hell." She slammed the door behind her.

_Oh, there ain't no rest for the wicked until we close our eyes for good,_ I thought as I choked out my last breath.

* * *

_Thank you all for being so awesome about my twisted little fic. This is the end! Right now, I'm still writing Carpe Diem, which is closing in on the end, and I just started a Juno-inspired fic called The Beautiful Letdown, if you're interested in some romantic comedy._

_Thank you so, so much!  
Mary _


	10. Fandom Gives Back

Were you not satisfied with the missing pieces in Seducing Revenge? Upset with the ending of Suave Secrets? Wanted to hear a little more from Edward in The Kings of Forks? Interested in a continuation of any of my one-shots? Here's your chance to get exactly what you want!

I'm participating in Fandom Gives Back this summer. I'm offering three one-shots on a first come, first serve basis; one one-shot in a real auction-style, and one multi-chapter story in a real auction-style.

Here's the link to everything you can bid on:  
http:/www(.)thefandomgivesback(.)com/yourauctions(.)php  
Without the brackets, obviously.

I already have a bid on the multi-chapter! So if you're interested in that, hustle your bustle over to the site and start bidding!

Bidding ends on July 4, 2010.

Thanks very much for the support!  
lib6


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